


A Long Time Ago in a Kingdom Far, Far Away...

by agalaxywithinyou



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, BB-8 is a dragon, Blood, Description of Injuries, First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, Knight Finn, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Prince Poe, Rey is a badass, Romance, Slow Build, Swordplay, Violence, but nothing too graphic, follows elements of canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5762107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agalaxywithinyou/pseuds/agalaxywithinyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So,” continued the man conversationally, as if they were chatting in the street rather than breaking out of a dungeon, “why? Why are you helping me?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Because,” Finn said, slotting key number seventeen in the lock and giving the stupidly handsome man an earnest look, “it’s the right thing to do.”</i>
</p><p>In which Poe is a prince of D'Qar, Finn is a knight of the First Order, and even though the ruthless Prince Ren is after them and they're trying to return Poe safely to his kingdom, they still find time to fall in love.</p><p>[ON HIATUS]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The [original concept](http://halpdevon.tumblr.com/post/136433554781/au-where-poe-is-the-kingdoms-kindest-prince-he-is) for this fic was created by [halpdevon](http://www.halpdevon.tumblr.com), and is also inspired by her amazing artworks which you can find [here](http://halpdevon.tumblr.com/post/136527517696/listen-i-cant-stop-thinking-about-this-au-ok), [here](http://halpdevon.tumblr.com/post/136596104916/i-believe-it-was-tumblr-user-helenofsparta-who) and [here](http://halpdevon.tumblr.com/post/136596406306/ive-thought-about-it-for-a-while-and-in-this) (seriously, go check them out - you won't regret it). I'd like to thank her for allowing me to combine my love of fantasy, Star Wars, and gayness all into one work :)  
> Come find me on tumblr [here](http://skulduggerv.tumblr.com/). Hope that you enjoy!

“Get on your knees, scum!”

Finn winced as the knight, dressed in gleaming white armour identical to his own, threw the man to the ground with a shove. He landed heavily, breath coming in laboured gasps, and kept his bloodied face turned to the ground. It was hard to look at, so instead of doing that, Finn looked round at the busy square in which he stood. It was early afternoon, the sun high in the azure sky, and all the folk going about their daily business had formed a lose circle around them to watch as a man was beaten senseless simply because ‘he looked guilty’.

“Please,” he was saying past a heavily bleeding nose, “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

The knight grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to his feet, face unerringly close as he leered at him. “Nothing wrong, eh? That’s exactly what a spy from D’Qar would say.”

“Please, I –”

He was cut short by a knee to the stomach, then dropped unceremoniously to the ground where he curled into himself and whimpered. Finn swallowed back his instinct to rush over and make sure he was okay, and watched as a few people helped him to his feet. He turned round before anyone could glare at him with the anger and distaste that he had become so accustomed to, and turned to follow his fellow knight, who was already making his way out of the square and down the street.

He trailed behind, not wanting to strike up conversation with his comrade whom he knew next to nothing about – he didn’t know what his name was and this was the first patrol that they had taken together, but he was violent and ruthless and Finn didn't really need to know anything more. So as he walked, hand resting on the pommel of his sword, he let his mind drift.

He thought about the man, and the fact that he hadn’t hit him, hadn’t said a single word, had no intention whatsoever of inflicting harm upon him. And he thought about the fact that he had stood by and watched and done nothing to stop it – that was just as bad, wasn’t it? But he didn’t know what else he could do. The cruelty of the First Order of Knights was well known throughout the lands, and they were undoubtedly feared. And to speak up against the violence which had become so commonplace in the kingdom of Starkiller was to be permanently silenced and thrown in a cell. Knights never spoke out against their lords, nor the code with which they were ordered to conduct themselves, and so Finn had no other choice but to remain quiet, and be thought of as a coward and an outsider by his comrades. But, he thought drily, he would much rather face those criticisms than try to fit in and become like them.

Stirred from his musings by the chime of the bell that signalled the hour, Finn finally took notice of their surroundings. They were walking down the main thoroughfare of the city; ahead of them loomed the palace, made from dark stone and adorned with blood red banners that bore the insignia of the kingdom of Starkiller. If he looked down, he would see that same symbol on the strip of cloth that hung from his belt. He didn’t do that too often, however; it just reminded him that wherever he went, people saw him as a monster in white armour, a lackey of Prince Ren and King Snoke. And he didn’t really like thinking about that.  

“Sir Knight! Sir Knight!”

Finn turned to see a young squire approaching him, weaving through the crowd until he came to a halt before him. He had mousy brown hair and clothes that were just a size too big, and he puffed out his chest as he spoke. “Sir Knight, a message for you from Captain Phasma.”

Finn bit back a groan. The imposing woman, with her silver armour polished to a gleam, led a division of about a hundred knights, including himself. She had singled him out in training numerous times to report on his excellent skills, and had assigned him head of sanitation; but whatever she wanted, it couldn’t possibly be good.

“Yes?” It was the first he had spoken today; his lips stumbled over the simple word and his voice was muffled by his helmet. He only hoped the squire could understand him.

“She requests your presence immediately. I’m to take you to her.”

He tried not to let his shoulders slump. “Of course. Lead the way.”

**. . .**

The squire left him by a door he knew opened onto a spacious study reserved for military discussions, and he raised tentative fist to knock. A few moments passed, and it was opened by a servant who inclined her head as he entered.

Inside, Captain Phasma stood by a grand oak table, her helmet resting on its surface. Finn had seen her without it on only one other occasion, and had to admit that she was pretty in an imposing, cold, and terrifying kind of way. She acknowledged his presence with a small nod, but it was the red headed man seated at the desk that caught Finn’s attention. General Hux oversaw the operation of the First Order as a whole, was the right hand man of Prince Ren, and rarely took interest in the ongoings of individual knights. His mere presence made Finn’s throat tighten with nervousness, but he stood at attention and felt a certain calmness that the trained rigidity of his pose wouldn’t give anything away.

Phasma began talking in her usual drawl. “Knight, you have been doing excellent work in co-ordinating the sanitation workers and keeping them in line. You do sentry duty without complaint, your record is spotless, and your skill with a weapon is to be commended. General Hux and I agree that you should be promoted to a role where your abilities can be… put to better use.”

Any other knight would meet those words with avid enthusiasm and a wide grin, but Finn only felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Sure, he was the perfect knight: he was a good fighter, he followed orders, he never complained. But if his inability to act like his violent comrades was an indicator of anything, it was that he was not prepared to do whatever it was that Phasma was going to ask of him. “Thank you, Captain,” he managed to say, extremely grateful for the helmet so that he only had to worry about feigning pride in his voice.

Phasma continued and Hux looked on with what seemed like boredom. “As such, in two days’ time at dawn you will report to my division. We will be making an example of a small town to the north, where there has been talk of an uprising.”

That would most likely entail burning a few buildings to the ground, assaulting anyone who dared to protect themselves, and executing at least one of the most likely innocent civilians. His mouth suddenly felt as dry as the deserts of Jakku. “Yes, Captain.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you in action, knight. Dismissed.”

Finn turned to leave the room, his stomach churning with thoughts of the excursion – it was going to be horrible, he knew that much, but maybe if he hung in the back and just kicked over a few baskets…

He was in the middle of closing the door behind him when Phasma turned to Hux and spoke. “Anything new with the prisoner?”

Finn knew that it was absurdly stupid to eavesdrop on a private conversation between two of his superiors (curiosity _did_ kill the cat), but it was as if he moved in autopilot upon hearing the words. Prince Ren was constantly ordering the imprisonment of random citizens, torturing them for information they didn’t have, then publicly executing them to make an example of his power. And if Hux and Phasma were meeting to discuss said prisoner, then it wouldn’t be long before the city was called to witness a hanging. The last one had been a few weeks ago, and Finn hadn’t been able to get the image of the woman, swinging from the gallows with her eyes glazed over and mouth hanging slack, out of his head. He couldn’t possibly do anything to stop it, had no chance whatsoever of preventing this death without causing his own, and yet…

With a half formed plan bubbling in his mind, he shut the door properly, removed his helmet, pressed his ear against the wood and prayed that nobody would come around the corner.

 “Prince Ren himself interrogated him earlier.” That was Hux, his voice muffled but understandable. “He got nothing out of him, but is still convinced that he knows the location of Skywalker.”

D’Qar was the neighbouring kingdom, and their enemy for no real reason other than the fact that Starkiller craved power and land, and D’Qar (being of equal wealth and size) was a threat to that. It was ruled by Queen Organa, whose military prowess and kindness was well known of throughout the lands, and both King Snoke and Prince Ren were in constant fear that she would put an end to their brutal reign.

Phasma gave a short, humourless laugh. “I admire the man that can withstand Ren’s methods. Will the execution go ahead tomorrow as planned?”

There it was. Finn immediately backed away from the door, having heard enough of the conversation and not wanting to test his luck, and pulled his helmet back on. He stood still for a few seconds, just to let the events of the past five minutes sink in, before starting off down the corridor at a brisk pace, ignoring the fact that he now had sentry duty in the upper east tower.

The execution was _tomorrow_. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, another innocent man would lose his life, and Finn would be forced to watch it happen. And what if Phasma asked him to perform the execution? What if he was the one to loop the noose around the prisoner’s neck and push him off the platform? What if he was the one to relieve his shoulders of his head? Now that the captain seemed to trust in his abilities, she would expect things like this of him. She expected him to blindly follow orders and take a human life. She expected him to march into a village in two days’ time and burn people’s homes to the ground.

His brain felt like it might explode, and his knees felt weak. He came to a stop by a large, glass stain window and leant against the cool stone. He would get in trouble for being late, but he didn’t quite care at this point. He just… needed a moment. To breathe, and think, and try to find a way to get out of this mess.

The late afternoon light dappled the hallway in gentle shades of yellow and pink. He could smell dinner being prepared down in the kitchens. He could hear the thud of wooden sword against dummy as someone trained down in the courtyard. He blinked. Chewed on his lip. Thought for a moment longer.

The plan that he had been mulling over brought him to a sudden conclusion that he didn’t really expect of himself. But, of course, it was the only way.

He had to find a way out of this mess. He had to leave the First Order. He had to leave Starkiller. He had to make a life for himself where he wouldn’t be expected to murder innocent people and raze their villages to the ground.

He had to escape. And he had to help the prisoner do the same.


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearly midnight when Finn rose from an uneasy sleep and began methodically pulling his armour on. Nobody in the darkened barracks stirred as the metal pieces clanged against each other, but it wouldn’t have mattered if they did. People were constantly leaving for or returning from night shifts and they had learned to sleep through the noise, and that was his simple alibi: guard duty in the dungeon, from midnight to sunrise.

After making his decision to rescue the prisoner and make a daring escape, he had gone about the rest of his day as he normally would. First sentry duty in the upper east tower, then dinner in the mess hall, then a few hours of sleep because he knew that he would need the energy. Now, he was simply bristling with nerves and anxiety as all the things that could go wrong ran through his mind. He tried to ignore them, but it was hard. So many things _could_ go wrong, and he would pay dearly for the slightest mishap – if he was caught, he would be executed along with the prisoner, simple as that. But Finn knew that it was well worth the risk. If he could piss off Prince Kylo, save an innocent man, _and_ escape this life in one simple action, well then… three birds with one stone, he supposed.

He sheathed his sword at his hip, pulled his plumed helmet on, crept out of the barracks and grabbed a torch from the wall as he passed. The castle was eerily quiet at night, and its corridors were empty apart from the few patrolling knights that he passed. Down the spiralling stairs and to the lowest floor he went, before he came to the steep staircase that led down to the dungeons.

Holding his torch aloft, he made his way down the steps, hewn from stone and worn down by decades of passing feet. He barely felt the chill in his armour, warm as it was, although he found himself nervously checking that he had properly secured each piece and thinking harder and harder about what he was about to do. There would be no going back once he turned the key, and his fate would be set in stone the moment he opened the cell door. Three and twenty years of training could never have prepared him for tonight, but three and twenty years was going to have to do.

His foot left the final step and he found himself in the dank dungeon; it reeked of mildew and iron, and most of the large space was shrouded in darkness – the only sources of light were his own torch and another one in a bracket above a small table at which two knights were seated. They looked up from their game (consisting of crude hand drawn cards and wooden chips), boredom and exhaustion clear in their faces, and one of them gave a loud yawn. “You better be here to relieve us. I’m ‘bout to pass out.”

Finn blinked in surprise. He had thought that the guards would protest at his appearance, and tell him that they were on for another few hours at least – and then he would have to come up with some elaborate lie to coax them into abandoning their post, or knock them out. But apparently, that was not the case. “Uh, yeah,” he said with a nod, “I am.”

They grunted in reply, threw their cards down and pushed their chairs back. Finn moved aside to let them pass and listened to their footsteps fade, and then all he could do was stand there and marvel at the fact that even though this was the first time this evening that he had actually had confidence in his plan, it might actually work.

He placed his torch in an empty bracket, grabbed the ring of keys from their hook above the table and made his way over to the only occupied cell. The prisoner was sitting up against the far wall, head bowed and face cast in shadow, the flickering orange light barely enough to illuminate his figure. Finn could see dark curly hair and clothing that… well, they _really_ didn’t look like they belonged to a simple civilian: a red cape fastened with a gold brooch, a brown brocade tunic, black pants and leather boots. Finn frowned slightly, but quickly decided that there were much more important things at hand.

“Hey,” he hissed, knocking on the bars with a gauntleted fist. “ _Psst_ , wake up.”

The prisoner stirred slightly and, after a few moments, raised his head and blinked owlishly. After his eyes adjusted to the light and he seemed to ascertain that he was still in a dungeon, he took notice of the knight standing before him and his expression immediately darkened. But even wearing a scowl, Finn couldn’t ignore the fact that he was incredibly handsome, with bronzed skin and stubbled cheeks and dark eyes that were narrowed in suspicion. He was injured, too – of course he was. That was what happened when one was held captive and tortured for information. His temple was crusted with dried blood, his lip was split, his face was streaked with grime; despite that, he looked determined and angry and ready to hit someone very hard in the face. A beat passed before he spoke, his voice low but vehement. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Finn had almost forgotten that he was wearing the armour of the enemy, and that to the prisoner, he was just another faceless guard hereto keep him locked in a grimy cell while he awaited his execution. So he hurriedly pulled the helmet from his head, relishing the cool air upon his skin, and spread his hands in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture. “No, no! I’m here to rescue you!”

Finn set his helmet on the ground and waved the keys at him, and the man frowned deeply as he got to his feet. He didn’t come any closer, but stared at him apprehensively, as if trying to gauge whether or not he was lying. “Rescue… me?” he repeated.

Finn nodded and glanced worriedly behind his shoulder. He knew that Prince Ren wasn’t going to appear in the doorway, but it had just occurred to him that another knight soon would, as guard duty was always done in pairs. It would most certainly be best if they got out of there as soon as possible. He set to work on the lock, slotting each key in and wiggling it around before moving on to the next one. As he did so, the prisoner moved cautiously closer, head cocked and eyes searching.

“Are you from D’Qar?” he asked.

Finn shook his head, chewing on his lip as he abandoned another key. “I’m a First Order knight.”

“Really?” He looked somewhat shocked at that and, apparently convinced that the rescue was legitimate, came to lean against the bars near Finn. With a note of humour in his voice, he murmured, “So you didn’t knock some poor bastard out and steal his armour.”

“No, I didn’t,” Finn said with a glance up at him, and was surprised at the smile that lifted the corner of his mouth. It felt weird to be joking in such a… tense situation, but it was helping, surprisingly. If the prisoner was in good spirits, then he was confident that this would work, and that meant that they might get out of this alive. He felt the urge to look over his shoulder again lessen slightly.

 “So,” continued the man conversationally, as if they were chatting in the street rather than breaking out of a dungeon, “why? Why are you helping me?”

“Because,” Finn said, slotting key number seventeen in the lock and giving the stupidly handsome man an earnest look, “it’s the right thing to do.”

They simply stared at each other for a few moments, and the other man was now close enough that Finn could see the smear of blood on his forehead, and the flickering reflection of the torchlight in his eyes, and the way that his teeth were tugging on his lower lip, and –

 _Footsteps_.

Finn jerked his head up and exchanged a wide eyed look with the prisoner. He didn’t have time to think, didn’t have time to mull over the fact that they were probably going to get caught before they had even left the dungeon – he just twisted key number seventeen and prayed to whatever deity that was willing to listen.

The footsteps came closer, the lock clicked, the door swung open without complaint, and then the prisoner was barrelling out of his cell and pushing both of them against the wall just as the knight walked in.

Their backs were flat against the cool stone and the prisoner’s arm was flung across his chest, as if Finn would contemplate moving from the position. They were right out in the open, their figures barely shadowed, and if the guard turned his head just a fraction to the right he would see them. They both held their breaths and watched as the knight’s whistling came to an uncertain stop as he took notice of the open cell.

Finn had never moved so fast in his life. He stepped forward, unsheathed his sword at lightning speed and swung the pommel into his helmet before he could even turn around.

He swayed comically on his feet for a second before crashing to the floor, and Finn stood over him, eyes wide with shock as he breathed deeply and felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It was the first time he had used the weapon against someone with the actual intention of doing them harm, and it felt… good. He knew that he now didn’t have to stand to the side and watch as his supposed comrades swung their fists into helpless people and slaughtered the innocent. He could fight back. He could make a difference. But first? Escape.

“He’ll be coming to soon,” Finn said matter-of-factly, sheathing his sword before he turned around. He went to make for the staircase, but stopped as his foot kicked something gold and glittering across the floor.

The crown skidded to a halt at the prisoner’s feet, and his face lit up with a smile. “There it is,” he murmured, and he picked it up, frowned at the bent edge where it was obvious someone had stood on it, and placed it on his head. It completed his look, the dark curls of his hair contrasting pleasantly with the ornate metal, and Finn’s jaw fell slack – his escape plan had just gotten a thousand times more difficult.

“You’re royalty?!” he sputtered loudly.

He gave him a funny look at that, as if his shock was uncalled for. “Last I checked I was, but we had better get going before –”

The knight on the ground moaned in pain and, without thinking, Finn grabbed the man’s hand and then they were running.


	3. Chapter 3

They sprinted up the steep stairs, hand in hand, and burst into the open corridor.

“Which way?” the man whispered urgently, but Finn was tugging him along to the right before he could even finish talking. They didn’t have any time to waste; the guard would be following them any second now, then he would alert the others, then the entire First Order would be on high alert and it would be nigh impossible for them to escape – but they were way past the point of no return now.

They raced down the hallway, trying to get as much distance between the dungeon and them, and turned a corner. Finn was prepared to throw himself at the knight that might appear before them, but the dimly lit corridor was empty and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Stairs,” he simply said, and the prisoner followed without hesitation, their fingers still wound tightly together. Finn tried to dampen the sound of his footsteps on the flagstones and willed his thundering heartbeat to slow, but between that and frantically trying to come up with a plan, he decided the latter was more important at the moment.

They soon emerged into another corridor, this one above ground and sporting windows that showed a view of the moonlit main courtyard – there was a fountain in the centre, and directly ahead of them stood the main entrance. The gatehouse was heavily protected but its portcullis was currently raised, which would make this just a bit easier. What Finn was not looking forward to, however, was the dozen guards pacing restlessly atop the rampart, bows and quivers slung across their backs.

“What’s the plan?” the prisoner whispered, moving them into a position where they wouldn’t be spotted through the windows. He looked and sounded far too calm given the situation, but he probably had experience with this kind of thing, being of royal disposition. Finn, on the other hand, was sure that his distinct lack of experience was going to get them killed.

“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted sheepishly. “I had a vague plan, but that was before I found out that you were…”

“A prince of D’Qar?”

Finn was about nod his head in agreement, expecting the royal prisoner to name some far off kingdom that he had never heard of, but the moment the name left his lips his jaw fell slack. He looked down at their still joined hands, then up at his face, then at his crown, then back at his face. He had to be kidding. There was no way that Finn had decided to rescue the imprisoned prince of Starkiller’s greatest enemy. No way. After a few seconds of tangible silence, he managed to quite succinctly sum up his feelings with a whispered, “ _You’re kidding me_.”

And there was that look again, with the slightly creased brow and cocked head, as if he couldn’t quite understand his reaction. “I’m not, I assure you. I’m Prince Dameron of D’Qar – but please, call me Poe.”

He said it with all the manners of a prince, and Finn absently noted that it was nice to finally have a name to match to his face. But he honestly couldn’t believe how unprepared he was for this. In his head the prisoner had been a simple merchant from the outer city, taken from a loving family because the First Order’s cruelty was unending in its reserves. The escape would have gone smoothly because Prince Ren couldn’t afford to waste resources on a simple civilian. But here, in front of him, was a beloved prince from a powerful kingdom, kidnapped by a tyrant and tortured for information about a war that hadn’t yet started and might not even begin. The knights that knew of the prisoner’s royal identity would fight till their dying breaths to stop them, and even if they did make it out alive, Prince Ren and King Snoke would stop at nothing to get Prince Dameron back.

However, Finn’s intentions still rang true, no matter how much harder it would be – he had known from the beginning that it would be dangerous, he had known the risk, and he had willingly taken it. Nobody, he reasoned silently, ever said that doing the right thing was easy.

“I’m Finn,” he said after his few moments of deliberation. He had to admit, his title didn’t sound as impressive. “Finn of, uh, nowhere. I’m kind of a traitor now.”

Poe laughed quietly and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a distant shout. The momentary silence that followed was heavy with dire implications: that was undoubtedly the guard that Finn had knocked out, it was only a matter of time before someone went to investigate the noise, and they had to run _now_.

They made it halfway down the corridor before Poe brought them to a halt, tugged his hand out of Finn’s and positioned them behind his back as if they were tied together.  
“What are you –” Finn hissed, but cut himself short as he saw the knight rounding the corner. He grabbed Poe roughly by the arm, catching on to his ploy, and waited for the person to approach at a half run and come to a stop before them

“Did you hear that?” she asked, “it sounded like – hold on. What’s this?”

Finn slapped Poe none too gently on the back, and he shot him a dirty look. “Prince Ren has requested that the prisoner be relocated.”

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, and slid her sword an inch from its sheath. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”

Finn shrugged, and was about to push Poe back and throw himself at her, when there was a loud shout from behind him.

“Halt, traitor!”

Finn swore under his breath and spun round to see the guard that he had knocked out at the end of the corridor, pointing at him accusingly, accompanied by a half dozen knights with their swords drawn. They began approaching and he heard the hiss of steel being pulled from scabbard from behind him, and with a deep breath he pushed his common sense aside and let instinct take over.

He ducked under her first swing, drew his own weapon, and smacked the flat of the blade into her side – he didn’t want to kill anyone, not when it could be avoided – and she fell into the wall. The group were nearly upon them, shouting at him to stop, and she was already getting to her feet, so Finn grabbed the prisoner’s hand, yelled “This way!” and then they were running again.

“Here’s the plan!” he shouted as they swung around the corner. “The next door on the left takes us to the main courtyard; we need to cut across it and get to the stables.”

“There are a dozen guards on the wall out there!” Poe protested.

“We don’t have much choice.” Finn chanced a glance behind them, but the sight of several angry knights charging after them didn’t do a lot for his confidence in the plan. “Just trust me!”

They skidded to a halt at the massive double oak doors and didn’t waste a moment in throwing themselves against them. They burst into the courtyard and Finn quickly took in the scene: several guards were looking down at them from the rampart, clearly not expecting such an intrusion, a few of them holding their bows half raised as if they didn’t know whether to attack or not. But when the two started sprinting, followed closely by eight knights that were roaring at them to stop, they quickly made up their minds.

Arrows whizzed by their heads and Finn almost instinctively drew Poe to his side; his white armour would protect him as long as nothing caught him in the head, but Poe was extremely vulnerable and him being injured or killed was not a part of Finn’s rather vague, dangerous plan. Besides, it’d be much better if he got shot; he was just a nobody, a lowly knight, and he’d gladly be run through with a sword if it meant the prince had a chance at escape.

“Stop in the name of King Snoke!” screamed a knight, but Finn was too busy raising his armoured forearm to knock away an arrow to hear him.

They skirted the fountain and, with arrows striking the flagstones around them and shouts filling their ears, bolted towards the stables.

“You can ride a horse, right?” Finn called breathlessly, shooting Poe a look.

“I can ride anything, Finn – just hold them off!” He put on a burst of speed and disappeared into the stables, leaving Finn to skid to a halt and face their pursuers.

They slowed as they came round the fountain, fanning out into a line and tightening their grips on their weapons. Finn focused on the adrenaline coursing through his veins, on the gentle breeze that was cooling the sweat on his face, on the fact that the volleys of arrows had stopped which meant that the archers must have gone to fetch reinforcements or come down to help. He thought about the sword in his hand, how it was an extension of his arm, and he raised his eyes to those whom he had once called comrades. The former knight of the First Order took a deep breath, raised his blade, and, with all the courage he could muster, shouted, “Come and get me!”

They came at him head on, roaring battle cries, and Finn danced forward and parried the first blow. He struck another in the stomach, sidestepped a jab, and swung his sword in an arc to come crashing down on someone’s helmet. He kicked their crumpling form into another knight’s path and ducked under a wild swing from someone obviously unskilled with their weapon. He looked into the black slits where he knew their eyes were, shrugged apologetically, and swung the pommel of his sword into the side of their head.

He pushed them aside, moved on to the next – the knight ran at him with a wild cry and he slashed, aiming to knock her in the chest, but he missed and watched, wide eyed, as his blade slipped into the space between her chest plate and helmet. The splash of red nearly brought him to a halt, but his horror was swallowed by the heat of battle and he had to step over her corpse to deflect a heavy blow meant to separate his head from his shoulders.

Finn quickly back-pedalled but the knight pressed forward, and they traded blows for several seconds. There was just the tang of blood on the air and the clang of steel upon steel, and he gritted his teeth, grunting as he twisted away from a thrust – but he was too slow, and the startling pain in his arm drew a cry of pain from him.

“Surrender!” spat the knight, and Finn was about to make a witty retort when someone from behind swung the flat of their blade into the side of his head and suddenly he couldn’t hear properly and the world was a mess of dark fragments and flashing colours. He stumbled away, shaking his head to clear the painful throbbing, and barely had time to register the flash of silver that was crashing down towards him – he raised his arm just in time and smacked the blade aside, and instead of cleaving his head in half it glanced off his pauldron.

“Leave him! To the stables, stop the prisoner!” someone yelled, and Finn turned in the direction of their voice immediately, knowing that if they caught Poe before he had prepared the horse, they had absolutely no chance of making it out of here alive. A few knights split off from the melee and started in the direction of the narrow building, and Finn tried to follow but found the cross-guard of his sword locked against another’s as they desperately tried to disarm him. He groaned with the effort of keeping his fingers locked around the grip and fervently prayed that Poe would hurry up.

His prayers were answered almost immediately as a huge black stallion burst from the stables, forcing Finn and all the knights to take a shocked step back to avoid getting trampled. It had a wild look in its eye, same as the man who sat in its saddle, and Poe crowed loudly as the horse reared on its hind legs and whinnied. There was a moment of silence, then the prince gave a shout, snapped the reins, and the horse charged at the cluster of knights with a toss of its head, its hooves clattering on the flagstones. They yelped and leapt out of the way, many dropping their swords in the confusion and landing painfully, and the horse stopped before Finn, skittering nervously as its rider leant down and offered a hand.

“C’mon, my knight in shining armour!” he grinned, and Finn couldn’t help but mirror his expression. He sheathed his sword and grasped his hand, and Poe hoisted him up into the saddle with surprising ease – his figure was slight in comparison, not built for the jarring motions of swordplay, but he was certainly not weak.

“Hold on,” he warned, sparing Finn a quick glance before digging his heels sharply into the horse’s side. The horse whinnied loudly and shot forward, going from complete standstill to gallop in a matter of mere seconds, and Finn yelped and wrapped his arms tightly around Poe’s middle.

Two of the knights had struggled to their feet and managed to get to the gatehouse, where they were attempting to drop the portcullis. Poe whooped loudly as they passed through the gate, and it slammed shut with loud _clang_ just after them, and then – impossibly, against the greatest odds that Finn could imagine – they had made it out of the castle.


	4. Chapter 4

“We did it!” Finn crowed, fingers bunched in the fabric of Poe’s tunic, cold air whipping his face as they raced down the main street of Starkiller. It was nearly empty, save for drunks and patrolling knights who looked after them with curiosity but, on account of Finn’s armour, simply assumed that they were on official business. Houses and inns and shops passed in a blur, and he could feel Poe’s chest shaking as he laughed.

“Not quite yet,” he said, voice barely audible over the horses hooves striking the flagstones. “We’ll celebrate when we’re out of the city.”

Finn knew he was right, but couldn’t help but get caught up in the elation and adrenaline that was thrumming through his veins. He couldn't feel the throbbing ache of his muscles, or the bruises where swords had slammed into his armour, or the blood that had dried on his arm; he knew only the movement of the horse beneath them and the warmth of Poe’s closeness.

The thought made him flush, made him realise how stupid he was being, and he silently chastised himself for getting distracted. He found his mind automatically repeating the various lessons that had been drilled into him the moment he had been snatched away from his family, teachings that he would never forget because he was – had been – the perfect soldier. _Don’t get complacent. Always be alert. Always be wary. Always be ready._

So as much as he wanted to revel in their victory, instinct and years of training pushed practicality and strategy to the front of his mind. By now the knights would have gathered their steeds and increased their numbers, and they would be coming after them to try and prevent them from reaching the outer wall. There was no way for the sentries on the rampart to be notified of their arrival, nor the knights patrolling the city, and they would undoubtedly catch on rather quickly. Just thinking about it was making Finn’s mouth dry with worry. Their circumstances were… unfavourable, to say in the least. What could a rogue knight and a lost prince do against the full force of the First Order? What hope did they have in so much as catching a glimpse of the gate?

Because they couldn’t fight their way out this, like he had done back in castle; they couldn’t sneak out, because the security around Starkiller was immense. Their only way out was a heavily guarded gate, and they had next to no advantages. It was all now up to Poe’s riding skills, which thankfully seemed more than apt, and sheer luck.

“Check the side of the saddle” the prince said, turning his head slightly to be heard. “We’re going to follow the main road, you’re going to shoot at them, and hopefully we can get to the gate before they get to us.”

There was a certain tone to Poe’s voice that gave the impression that he was more nervous than he let on, but Finn couldn’t quite be sure. Nevertheless, he followed the prince’s instructions and found a quiver full of arrows attached to the saddle, and a bow which he picked up and tested in his hands. He had never trained much with horses, didn’t even know how to ride one properly, but he did know how to shoot a bow – mostly whilst stationary, but that wasn't the point. He wasn’t sure how he was going to hold the bow and aim, much less shoot without falling off, but he was sure that if he held on extra tight with his legs and just hoped for the best, it would –

An arrow whistled by his ear and he yelped loudly, the horse jerking slightly to the side as Poe jumped and accidentally wrenched the reins.

“Finn! What’s –”

“Keep your head down and go faster!” It was all he could do to warn him as he released Poe’s middle, nocked an arrow, and twisted round in the saddle.

Oh, _kriff_.

Twenty odd knights, all holding nocked bows and gleaming swords aloft, shouting harsh war cries as they pressed their galloping steeds forwards. Leading them, metallic armour a startling contract against the white of her soldiers, was Captain Phasma. And boy, did she look pissed.

Her face was hidden but they seemed to lock eyes. Finn suddenly felt like he was young again, meek and small, Phasma levelling a sword at his throat as she taught him the importance of keeping his guard up. That feeling intensified when she raised her voice and called out over the din of thundering hoof beats and shouting knights: “Halt, traitor!”

He absently remembered that it was, in part, Phasma’s fault that he had finally decided on escaping. If he mentioned that to her face, however, he wouldn’t live long enough to regret his decision; so he decided on simply swallowing his apprehension, drawing his arm back, and loosing an arrow at her.

The stupidly hopeful part of himself was sure that it was going to stay true, but she simply leant nonchalantly to the side to avoid it and Finn’s enthusiasm keeled over and died. She cocked her head slightly and, having ascertained that the traitorous knight and escapee prisoner weren’t going to give up and surrender, called her party onwards with a harsh yell.

Counting on his strong legs and Poe to keep him from falling, he fired off another three arrows which came close to their targets but missed. He could now make out the detailing on the knights armour. He drew back the string, fired another. This one smacked into a knights arm and their brief shout of pain was barely audible. Another arrow, blindly loosed, found a chink in someone's breastplate and they toppled off their horse.

Nobody paused or looked behind them as they leapt over the corpse of their fallen comrade. Finn realised with a sickening lurch that it was the second person he had killed, but another thought drowned that one out, one that tightened his chest but helped him to focus on the difficult task of aiming, shooting, and not falling. _Kill or be killed. Kill or be killed. Kill or_ –

“Finn!”

The warning came as Poe yanked the reins and turned them down a narrow side street, and Finn would have fallen if not for the arm that the prince threw out to stop him from slipping. He quickly righted his position, breath coming fast and shallow, but didn't have time to thank him as a volley of arrows struck the ground around them and narrowly missed the flank of their steed.

“Faster!” He called, as if they weren’t already going as fast as possible. There was no way to increase their speed without inadvertently killing their horse, which they most certainly wanted to avoid. Finn simply tightened his grip on his bow and tried to cause as much mayhem as possible within the ranks of their pursuers – anything to slow them down, give them more time to reach the gates, more time to achieve the freedom that they could taste upon the tips of their tongues.

At Finn’s command, Poe took to trying to lose them in the labyrinth of side streets and narrow alley ways of the city – first a left, then a right, past a crumbling church, then a street that Finn knew was infamous for its many brothels and raunchy taverns. He turned round from shooting to murmur directions in the prince’s ear, although the tactic wasn't doing much in their favour. Their pursuers knew the streets just as well as Finn did, and the playing field was – unfortunately – even in that regard.

“Kriff,” he murmured under his breath, as the distance between them and the knights stayed decidedly the same. “Kriff. Kriff. Kriff.” Like swearing was going to make the situation better.

In fact, it made the situation worse. Because when he turned round again, Phasma was a mere metre behind them, sword drawn, shoulders squared as she prepared to attack.

“Finn, be care –” Poe called, glancing behind him for a brief second before realising that he could do nothing but keep the horse steady and keep them heading the general direction of the outer wall.

“Kriff!” Again, not helping – but he felt that it was justified. He hurriedly strapped his bow back into the saddle, drew his sword, and prepared himself as Phasma urged her horse to run beside theirs. Now they were neck and neck, and Finn was absolutely terrified; until, of course, he realised that the Captain was right handed, and she was riding along their right side. She would have to fight with her left hand, and she wouldn’t be able to attack properly! She wouldn’t be able to –

Phasma smoothly switched hands and swung at Finn with incredible force, and whatever thoughts he had had of an advantage were quickly dispelled.

 _Of course_ she was ambidextrous.

He blocked the strike with a yell and threw a wild slash which she blocked with a lazy flick of her wrist. He jabbed, and she parried it with laughable ease. His overhead strike was knocked away by a gauntleted fist, and as he drew back to catch his breath, she gave a loud and mocking laugh.

“You can’t possibly defeat me, Sir Finn! I know how you fight.” The title felt like an insult when she said it. “I was the one who trained you; have you forgotten that?”

He most certainly hadn’t, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. She pressed her attack and he grunted as he parried a heavy blow, and responded with a swipe that she deflected. Finn knew she was taunting him, playing with him like a cat would with a mouse. If she had wanted him dead, his head would already be separated from his shoulders. The thought only made him hot with frustration, and he doubled his attacks, deftly swinging his sword as he attempted to catch her off guard.

They traded blows for what seemed like hours, but could only have been minutes. Finn’s muscles were screaming once again in the effort required to keep up his guard, and as his former mentor swung a blow at Poe's vulnerable side, he caught her hilt in a lock and twisted it in a weak attempt to disarm her – but he found that doing so was much easier when stationary and not on horseback. She simply cocked her head and didn’t allow him to budge her grip, and spoke in her loud, commanding voice.

"Give up now, and your deaths will be quick!"

Well, that was certainly comforting. But as he shoved her sword away, he realised too late that he had allowed his guard to fall open. Phasma’s sword sang as she feinted towards his open neck, the steel just kissing his bare skin, before she took the opportunity to lean down and swipe at their horse’s legs.

It surely would have severed the tendons, and they would have fallen as quickly as anything; nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, no means of escape. Finn had no idea how Poe did it, but his reflexes were the sharpest he had ever witnessed. He jerked the horses reins to the side and they careened down another side street, and Phasma’s blow met empty air instead of flesh and bone.

She yelled after them, unable to turn at such short notice, and just like that – they were free of Phasma, the group of knights were a street or two behind them, and they finally – _finally_ – had an advantage.

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing out of Poe’s mouth, and Finn gave a tired nod in reply before realising that he couldn’t see it.

“Uh, yeah.” Having wrapped one arm around Poe’s middle the moment he turned, he used the other to massage the shallow wound on his neck with a slight wince. He figured that he could have come away with a lot worse, but that didn’t mean he had to be grateful to Phasma for not slicing his head off. “I’m good. But we’re not out of the frying pan yet.”

“That’s for sure,” Poe muttered darkly, just as they rounded a corner and found themselves back on the open, empty main street – and at the end of it, just in view, was the imposing wall that enclosed the city.

Finn felt Poe expel a huge breath of relief, and he unconsciously did the same. They were so close, they had nearly made it, and the sight of the raised portcullis filled him with an odd mingling sense of hopefulness and dread. As every hoof beat brought them closer, he could see the rampart dotted with guards who looked as if they hadn’t yet been notified as to their imminent arrival.

 _Thank the maker_ , he thought wearily. He really didn’t fancy being received with a rain of arrows and a dropped portcullis. Nevertheless, he set his face with stout determination, slid his sword back into its sheath with shaky fingers and took up his bow once again, knowing that he would have to fire at the sentries in order to make their escape. His throat tightened at the mental image of a body tumbling from the wall, arrow protruding from its chest, but pushed it to the side with considerable effort and focused on the solid warmth of Poe in front of him.

Somewhere behind them, a considerable distance away judging by how faint her voice was, Phasma emerged from a side street and started screaming.

“You idiots, stop them! Drop the portcullis! Don’t let them get away!”

Knights began shouting and scrambling for weapons – Finn and Poe apparently cause for curiosity but not alarm, and Phasma cause for full blown panic. There was absolute chaos as they drew closer and closer to the gate, and when the first volley of arrows struck, Finn drew himself around the prince to protect him and tried not to cry out as one smacked into his armoured shoulder.

“Drop the portcullis!” Someone on the rampart screamed, for those who couldn’t quite make out their captains instructions. “Stop them!”

“Not a chance,” Poe hissed, and they were flying forward, steeds legs a mere blur, wind whipping their faces and tension tightening their muscles.

Finn found himself loosing arrows that sailed far past their marks, blindly releasing one after the other in an attempt to force the sentries behind cover. Desperation and fear were making his hands tremble, Phasma’s shouts were filling his ears, he could taste metal and smoke and blood upon his tongue – and every thundering hoof beat brought them closer to the wall, closer to freedom, closer to a world that Finn had never been given the opportunity to explore.

“Shoot her horse, Finn! Her horse!”

Finn blinked, taking a moment to register Poe’s words, but years of drills and training had him turning round before their meaning had actually sunk in. He dully remembered that it was considered dirty to shoot down someone’s steed, that there was no honour in taking an animals life, that it was the mark of a coward.

But Finn had been called worse.

He let the arrow fly, and Phasma’s steed collapsed as the flint tip sank into its neck. She crashed to the flagstones with a shout, the speed at which she had been moving sending her skidding, and that was all Finn needed to see.

He turned round to see that they were close to twenty metres from the gate, and his eyes immediately snapped to the knight that was sprinting towards the gatehouse. It would take a mere swing to cut through the rope, and the portcullis would drop, and then their future would consist of a meagre last meal and a raised platform before a crowd screaming for blood. The thought absolutely terrified him and he knew that he wasn’t just scared to die himself, but scared to let that happen to Poe. He had taken it upon himself to help the prince escape, and Maker be damned if he was going to let him down.

But when the knight turned around, time seemed to slow, and he saw that they weren’t just some faceless soldier. The red handprint painted on the helmet was all too familiar, and he remembered how he had been punished time and time again for not removing it, until their superiors had just given up and let him be. They were from the same division, had trained together for as long as Finn could remember, and he was the closest thing he had to a friend.

Slip stumbled in what seemed like shock as he locked eyes with Finn, and time still hadn’t resumed its normal pace. Milliseconds moved sluggishly and felt like hours. He couldn’t do it. How could he possibly do it? He had already killed two tonight; how could he make it a third and still live with himself?

But his logical mind was screaming at his arms to move, to raise the bow, to take aim, to loose the arrow.

And he did.

Everything came back into horribly sharp focus, and Finn watched helplessly as the arrow hit home with a sickening _thwack_. Slip tumbled to the ground, shaft protruding from his neck, blood already pooling onto the ground around him – and Finn was struggling to breathe, as if it were he who had been struck down.

He watched as if from afar as they rode past the still body, through the gates, and past the wall. Poe dodged volleys of arrows slung from the heavens, and Finn would have admired the proficiency in which he did so if he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out. This was wrong. He was meant to be excited, celebrating, whooping joyously as they escaped the city forever and watched it melt into the horizon.

What he felt instead was sickening horror and an overwhelming urge to lay down, sleep, and try to forget the slumped body of his friend.


	5. Chapter 5

It was the moment they passed through the gates that everything went to – well, Poe really couldn’t think of a better way to put it. Complete and utter shit.

Finn, who should have been cheering excitedly, was dead silent behind him. His arm was wrapped around his middle, the other holding the bow half raised as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. As if he hadn’t meant to fire that last arrow. As if he was still trying to come to the realisation that he had.

And their steed, a pwilful black stallion that he had taken an instant liking to, that he had hurriedly saddled up whilst listening to the sharp ring of steel upon steel from the courtyard outside, should not have had a feathered arrow shaft sticking out of its flank.

‘Complete and utter shit’ was putting it lightly.

He swore under his breath and felt despair clutch at his throat, and it was with great difficulty that he focused on driving the slowly dying horse forward. Arrows struck the ground around them, which had turned from worn flagstones to hardened earth, and the lush trees that had suddenly sprung up around them dappled everything with dancing shadows.

They thundered down the wide road, knights shouting after them but unable to do anything as they disappeared into the cover of the trees, and Poe was acutely aware of everything going on around him. The reins were slippery with sweat, the moon was surprisingly bright tonight, Finn was still silent, the horse’s breath were growing continually more erratic and rapid, but they had escaped.

They had done it.

So why didn’t he feel the elation that he had been so eager to taste, after days upon days of damp stone and torture? Why could he see vivid red blood and arrowheads sinking into bare necks before his eyes, instead of hear Finn whooping into the night air and their laughter being carried away by the wind?

Poe sucked in a deep breath, held the reins tight in his hands and let his head tip forward. He knew that behind those gleaming white helmets were people with friends and family and hopes and dreams, exactly like the D’Qarian knights, exactly like everyone else. But it was so easy to forget, especially when blinded by adrenaline and fear. He didn’t excuse what their order stood for, he knew that not all of them could be mindless killers – Finn, for example – but he did wonder how many of them Finn knew, how many friends he had cut down, all to escape with a man he didn’t even know.

The horses gait tripped slightly and Poe was drawn from his thoughts – he was almost thankful for the distraction, but when he let a hand rest comfortingly on its neck and found it sweating profusely and trembling, he cursed silently.

“Finn,” he said, and when a reply didn’t come, he raised his voice slightly. “ _Finn_.”

Poe turned to see Finn relax his knuckle-white grip on the bow and blink owlishly, as if coming out of a trance. He looked so… lost, Poe thought, that he could only stare at the ex-knight for a few silent moments before words would come. “Are you okay?”

There was a short pause. “Not really.”

And that was all they got a chance to say, because the horse suddenly gave a noise of pain and collapsed mid stride.

The world spun out of control but Poe didn’t feel any shock, just grim familiarity – years of riding and jousting had seen him falling from the backs of horses in every conceivable manner, although that didn’t mean the actual impact hurt any less. He smacked into the ground with a sickening thud and Finn fell on top of him, and there was a quiet moment before his mind was able to register the fact that he had grazed whatever skin was bare, bruised every part of his body, and somehow hit his head on the way down. He groaned and decided to lay still while he struggled to get his breath back, but found that the heavy weight pressing against definitely wasn’t helping.

“Finn,” he gasped, “can’t breathe.”

Finn grunted in reply and rolled off him, and then Poe was able to suck in a huge breaths of refreshingly cold air and slowly move himself into a sitting position.  He did so with a hiss of pain, and sat with his head between his knees as he waited for his swimming vision to right itself. He heard the slight shift of armour as Finn knelt beside him, and then there was a tentative hand on his shoulder.  

“Poe, can you stand?”

He raised his head to find Finn looking down the road, face cast in dramatic shadow and brows creased, as if expecting a battalion of knights to thunder around the corner any moment now (which, he supposed, might actually happen).  

“Yeah, I’m good. All good.” He shook his head as if to clear it and got to his feet somewhat unsteadily, Finn helping him up with a concerned frown. He was about to suggest that they get a move on, when he heard a weak whinny from behind him and belatedly remembered their dying steed.

The horse was laying on its side, making low whimpering noises as its legs twitched as if remembering the sensation of running, and Poe felt sick with guilt and the pervading thought that all these deaths were on him. He walked over and dropped to the ground next to it, ignorant of the twinge of pain it caused in his skinned knees, and placed a gentle hand on its neck. It regarded him with a single dark eye and then the only sound was its breathing – rattling in its chest, shallow, wheezing, growing lighter and lighter until…

He bowed his head and ran his thumb over its glossy coat, before turning his head slightly to look at Finn. Something akin to embarrassment coloured his cheeks; he thought that he would be faced with an expression of derision or a scoffing laugh that said, _we have to get moving and you’re mourning a stupid beast_ , _some brave prince you are_.

But Finn just offered him a gentle look that said the exact opposite, and the sarcastic comment – which was his go to method to defuse a situation such as this – died on his lips. Instead, he cleared his throat and ran a hand down his face, felt the dried blood at his temple and dirt clinging to his skin. “We, uh… we need to move.”

Finn nodded in agreement and made his way over, then leant down and gripped one of the leather straps criss-crossing the horse’s body. “Can I have a hand?”

Poe blinked in confusion for a moment before realising that it would be stupid to leave the corpse in the middle of the road, as it would just tell the knights that they were travelling on foot and couldn't have gotten far. He got up and, grunting with the effort and attempting to ignore his protesting muscles, helped Finn haul it into the thick underbrush by the side of the road. They made sure that it couldn't be spotted by those riding past, and Finn relieved the animal of its saddle bags and slung them over his shoulder.

They stood back to catch their breaths for a moment, their slowly fading adrenaline giving way to awareness of the biting cold and soreness of their bodies. Poe went to run his hand through his hair, sweat cooling on his brow from the labour, but as his fingers met cool metal he laughed out loud – _of course_ his crown had managed to stay on throughout the entire escapade.

Finn looked at him in confusion before a smile tugged at his lips, and he nudged Poe’s arm with his own as he set off into the dark forest before them. “C’mon, your majesty. Haven’t got all night.”

Poe was going to inform him that the proper title was actually your highness, and that majesty was reserved for the queen, but as the woods enveloped them it felt wrong to break the silence. As much as he wanted to speak to Finn, find out more about him and why he had done what he did, he was perfectly content for the only sounds to be their rhythmic footsteps and the calls of night birds high up in the canopy. There would be plenty of time to talk later on – but then that thought had him wondering how long they would be travelling together. It was a long journey from here to D’Qar, and that was if Finn even wanted to stay with him. His life was at great risk if he did, and he was sure that if they split up, the First Order would consider their traitorous knight the lesser threat. Ultimately, it would keep Finn safer, but… honestly? He couldn’t stomach the thought of walking long winding roads by himself, of sitting by a fire with no one to give him reassuring looks over the dancing flames.

Poe ducked under a low hanging branch and spared Finn a sideways glance, and decided that if the ex-knight wanted to leave, he wouldn’t stop him – he would just be incredibly scared at the prospect of being left alone.

**. . .**

It was close to an hour later that Poe found himself sitting in a cave, hands held out to the crackling fire that separated him from Finn. Their refuge for the night was well hidden and mostly dry, rough stone walls decorated with dancing shadows and orange light, and it was the safest he had felt in a while. He was warm and not faced with an immediate threat, and while he wasn’t exactly looking forward to sleeping on the floor, it was better than the damp stone of the dungeon he had been kept in for the past… few days? Weeks? Or had it been longer? Time hadn’t existed in the cell; there had just been mealtimes (stale bread and water), shifts of guards, and visits from _him_.

The spike of involuntary fear that he felt at the thought must’ve shown on Poe’s face, because Finn looked up from the fire and cocked his head slightly.

“Everything alright?”

The prince swallowed thickly and gave a short nod; then, partly out of actual concern and want to change the topic, gestured to Finn’s neck. “Can I take a look?”

The ex-knight raised a hand to the wound, and winced slightly as his fingers brushed the bloodied skin. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

As Poe leant over and dug through the saddle bags, Finn got to his feet and started to remove his armour with a practiced ease, and Poe found himself rather distracted from the task of finding a cloth and canteen of water. First went the gauntlets, then arm pieces; breast plate and leg followed in quick succession. He let each fall to the ground with a dull noise, something akin to relief in his face, until he finally stood in nothing more than black boots, dark pants and a simple tunic.

There was silence for a moment, before he kicked his shed armour to the side and sat down beside the prince. “You have no idea how good it feels to finally get that off.”

“I can imagine,” Poe said with a quiet laugh, and he gestured for the ex-knight to bare his neck. Up close he could see that the wound wasn’t deep, but it did look painful; he glanced at Finn before dabbing at it and, when he didn’t flinch away or cry out in pain, set to working the blood from his skin.

“So,” Finn began, and Poe found himself very distracted by the fact that he could feel the vibrations of his voice as he cleaned the wound. “How did they capture you? I can’t imagine that Ren just waltzed into D’Qar and kidnapped you.”

“Funnily enough, no,” Poe said with a grin. “They ambushed us while we were travelling. I was on a… mission, from Queen Organa, in the Outer Rim territories just over the mountains.  Her brother went missing after –”

“The Jedi massacre?” Finn supplied, mouth tight and eyes downcast, and Poe nodded. “Ren showed up soon after that and Snoke proclaimed him prince, but… is it true? You’ve been looking for Skywalker?”

Poe lowered the cloth. “Skywalker was training Ren to become a Knight, so when he turned to the dark side, he felt responsible and vanished. Without him, the Jedi Order is all but dead.”

“Any luck in finding him?”

“Not yet. We have a portion of a map leading to his location, but I was separated from the, ah, person who was carrying it.”

Finn thought for a moment, then took the cloth from the prince’s hands and washed it out. With a silent look that asked for permission, which was granted, he began gently cleaning the dirt and blood from Poe’s face. It was strange, being able to study Finn’s face so closely without having to excuse it, and he found his gaze training on his lips as he spoke.

“Look, Poe, I… I’m endangering your life by staying with you.”

Okay, that was definitely _not_ what Poe had expected him to say.

“The First Order won’t stop until they’ve caught and killed me; they can’t risk someone leaking their secrets to the enemy.  Sure, they still want you dead, but I can at least draw them off your trail.” He paused in his task, hand hovering just over his cheek. “They might catch me, they might not, but what’s important is that you get back to D’Qar in one piece.”

“Kriff, Finn, no way!” Poe exclaimed, causing the other to draw back slightly in apparent shock. “I… I was thinking the same thing, that _you_ would be safer if you left _me_ behind and went on alone, but, uhm…” _I don’t want to be left alone, please don’t leave me_. “We have a better chance if we stick together.”

There was a moment of silence, before Finn gave a short nod in agreement. “Okay. Can you take off your tunic?”

Poe blinked at him, wondering if he had possibly misheard him, but the ex-knight just made a small noise as he realised how it sounded and elaborated. “Sorry, I just – I’ve seen what Ren does to his prisoners, and I’d rather you not die of infection.”

“Fair enough,” Poe said with a breathy laugh, and he hesitated a moment before unclasping his cloak and pulling off his tunic with some difficulty. The cold hit his bare chest and he shivered, and forced himself to look down at the scars crisscrossing his torso and bruises purpling his skin.

Finn sucked in a breath. “Poe, oh my –”

“It looks worse than it feels.”

Finn looked like he didn’t believe that for a second, but got the cloth and began carefully cleaning away the dried blood. It stung and the ex-knight paused every time there was a flash of discomfort on Poe’s face, but although they were painful, they were only shallow; Ren had made sure that he didn’t bleed out, because he had much more interesting methods to use to get what he wanted.

Again, Poe felt that irrational spike of fear, and bit down on his tongue to control the ensuing surge of frustration. He couldn’t even think about his time spent in the dungeon without feeling horribly nervous and on edge, and he was most likely going to be plagued with nightmares about it for months to come. He just wanted to forget it altogether, but knew his mind wouldn’t let it be that easy.  Physical wounds he could have dealt with, but the sensation of cold fingers digging through his thoughts wasn’t going to leave him for a very long time.

“You okay?”

Finn’s voice startled him from his musings, and he gave a short bark of laughter. “If I had a piece of gold for every time we’d asked each other that tonight…”

“We could buy our way out of trouble with the First Order.”

The two shared a grin, and a moment passed before Poe’s expression turned more sombre. “Hey, uh… I just wanted to thank you.”

Finn pressed the cloth against his shoulder and cocked his head. “What for?”

“For being either brave or stupid enough to put your life at risk for a complete stranger.”

“I did what anyone would have –”

“No, no,” Poe said with an adamant shake of his head. “Not just anyone would have done what you did, Finn. I… I had given up all hope of getting out of that cell. I had told Ren where the map was and failed my mission. I would have been executed at midday. But then you showed up, and suddenly, I had a chance to make everything right, and –”

He was cut off as he stifled a yawn, and Finn sat back with a small grin that quickly faded into something more sombre. “I… you’re welcome, Poe. I’m done here, so you should rest. I’ll wake you at dawn.”

“Sounds good,” Poe said as he scrubbed at his tired eyes, almost grateful that his exhausted body had saved him from what would have certainly been a lengthy, emotional spiel. Finn tucked the cloth back into the saddle bag and sat opposite him, busying himself with stoking the coals as Poe pulled his tunic back on with a grimace. He drew his cape around himself and, groaning as his sore muscles protested, stretched out next to the fire. He heard rather than saw Finn do the same, and he stared up at the shadows dancing across the uneven ceiling as he waited for silence to fall over the cave.  

Fall it did, and he listened to the muffled sounds of the forest outside and the crackle of the fire. Just as Poe was about to shut his eyes and allow himself to sleep, Finn spoke, and his voice was gentle and earnest.

“Phasma… Phasma was going to send me to a town in a few days’ time. I am – sorry, _was_ – the perfect knight, but she wanted me to prove myself; to burn houses, hurt innocent people, make an example out of them, help rule the kingdom with fear.” He paused, and his voice only got smaller. “I’ve been a bystander my entire life, just letting horrible things happen to other people, not interfering. But that’s just as bad as doing it, isn’t it? So I made a choice to leave all that behind, because of you, so… thank _you_.”

Poe gave a small smile which Finn couldn’t see past the dancing fire, but he hoped he could hear it in his voice. “Guess we’re even, then.”

“Guess we are.”

And with a warm, funny sort of feeling in his chest, Poe finally let his body relax and eyelids flutter shut for the first time in what felt like weeks. The ground was hard and cold and uncomfortable, but at least he was alive and warm, and it was funny how quickly he had come to appreciate the little things in life like that. He mumbled out a slurred goodnight to Finn, but if he bid him goodnight in return he didn’t hear it, because sleep had already stolen him away.

**. . .**

Poe woke to someone gently shaking him, and a quiet voice in his ear. “Wake up, Poe. We have to get moving.”

He blinked blearily and took stock of his surroundings – the fire was now ashes and smouldering embers, the cave awash in the dim light that comes before the sun breaks over the horizon. Finn was kneeling beside him, looking shockingly fresh faced for such an obscene hour – well, obscene for Poe, who was accustomed to waking well after dawn.

 “How?” Poe grumbled, unsure whether the other would understand his meaning, but not yet capable of stringing together proper sentences.

“First Order knight here. I’ve been getting up at this time my entire life.”

That made perfect sense, so Poe simply shrugged and got to his feet, massaging a kink out of his neck with a wince. “Did you, uh, sleep well?”

“We slept on a cave floor, Poe.”

There was a silent moment in which Poe attempted to match Finn’s deadpan expression, but failed when he gave a short bark of laughter. “I know; but compared to the dungeon, that was absolutely blissful.”

Something in the other man’s face shifted at that, but before Poe could tell what it was, he motioned for him to follow him out of the cave. He complied and they came to a standstill just outside. The forest was peaceful and quiet and beautiful, greenery beaded with glistening dew and sky mingling the remnants of night and arrival of morning. Poe thought that it would be nice to wake like this every morning, stand outside and watch the sun spill over the trees and brush everything with lovely gold hues. He supposed that they would be doing that a lot now, what with the need to cover as much ground as possible each day, and found himself mentally making a list of things that weren't currently horrible at the moment. So far that list included sunrise, adventure, and Finn.

The man in question spoke softly, as if he was afraid to break the silence of the morn. “I hid my armour, made sure we didn’t leave any obvious tracks, and did an inventory of everything we have.” He indicated the saddle bags slung over his shoulder. “Food enough for a week if we eat small portions, two full water skins and one empty, a bow, four arrows, a dagger, a sword, and basic medical supplies. We’ll head northeast to the nearest village, which is about a day’s walk from here, and re-supply.” He hefted the saddle bags onto his shoulder and gave a slight grimace. “It’s risky; they know that's where we’ll go first, but as long as we keep a low profile we should be okay. From there we can steal horses and continue through the forest, then over the mountains. Sound like a plan?”

Poe nodded, visibly impressed. “Better than what I had in mind.”

“Which was?”

“Not die,” he said with a grin. “I like your plan much better.”

Finn let the corners of his mouth curl up before setting off into the trees, and Poe fell into step beside him – aching muscles already dreading the journey, but mind swimming with doubt and excitement and fear at what lay ahead. Back in D’Qar, everyone knew him to be rash and reckless and constantly craving adventure. Most princes spent their time in the castle, handling political issues and matters of the court, but Poe took every opportunity to patrol with the knights, take missions outside of the city confines, and do whatever he could to prove that his royal title didn’t define him. And if that meant harbouring a somewhat ridiculous death wish and penchant for getting himself into trouble (Jess’ words, not his), then who was he to fight it?

Poe spared a sideways glance at Finn, and just hoped that his tendency to charge head on into things wouldn’t get anyone other than himself hurt. He didn’t know if he would be able to live with himself if that happened.


	6. Chapter 6

The fact that Kylo Ren had been woken up just past midnight annoyed him. He had business to attend to early in the morning, matters of great importance to discuss with the king, and an execution to witness; all very important deeds that required a mind that was running on more than a few hours of sleep.

The fact that a knight, helmet under arm and lips trembling, had informed him that Dameron had escaped the dungeon, evaded all the guards, and passed the city gates without a single scratch had made him horribly, blindingly furious. He had snatched his sword from its scabbard and attacked his elaborate four poster bed with all the fervour and anger of facing off an actual enemy. The messenger had flinched with each blow, and then Ren had stood still, chest heaving with barely controlled fury and blade at his side.

But the fact that the knight had dared to open their mouth again, to deliver what was undoubtedly more bad news – well, Ren had to restrain himself from doing to the knight what he had done to the bed.

"Your Highness, he had help."

A pause, fraught with dire implications and the princes’ seething, palpable anger.

"From one of our own."

He couldn't help it then. He snapped. The prince raised his arm and the knight flew towards him, helmet dropping to the floor, eyes bugging out of their head as his fingers wrapped themselves around his throat. They scrabbled weakly against his grip, legs flailing uselessly, making pathetic gasping noises as he applied more pressure. Hux always gave him a disapproving look whenever he lost control like this, but never said anything to stop him; perhaps he was just thankful that they never actually ended up dead.

Ren let the knight fall to the ground, unconscious but still breathing, and quickly got dressed. With his sword at his hip and rage contorting his features, he set off to find General Hux, and put an end to that bastard of a prince and the traitor.

**. . .**

The outside world seemed to fade away the longer they walked. Finn could almost forget that they were being hunted, and instead fool himself into thinking that they were on a leisurely jaunt through the kingdom with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and the few supplies in their bags. Such thoughts calmed him, but only for a little while, until the silence had him trapped alone with his thoughts and all that had transpired the night before.

In the cave, he had been able to focus on cleaning the prince’s wounds and the fact that they had actually survived the entire ordeal. Everything else had been pushed to the side and buried deep, marked as thoughts that would be dealt with at a later point in time. He supposed that that time was now, because suddenly, he couldn’t stop thinking about Slip and all the other knights that he had cut down, and how the sword had felt in his hands. How powerful he had felt blocking strikes that were meant to dismember and returning ones of his own, how his movements and footwork had so neatly translated from casual sparring lesson to battle of life and death.

When he had knocked the guard unconscious in the dungeon, the first time his weapon had been used with malicious intent, he had felt powerful because he didn’t have to be that bystander anymore. He could protect himself and others. And while he had taken no pleasure in watching blood follow the edge of his blade or arrows meet their mark, even though he felt sick at the very thought, he couldn’t help but wonder if there _was_ a part of him that had revelled in it.

A part that was buried deep down, in the darkest recesses of his being, hidden – _but still there_. Maybe he had just tricked himself into believing that he wasn’t anything like his bloodthirsty comrades. Maybe a lifetime of training and indoctrination couldn’t just leave him overnight. Maybe his true nature could be ignored, but never eradicated. Could he pretend to have heart and humanity, yet possess none himself?

Because it had taken him mere seconds to make a choice that would have taken others hours. He had let that arrow fly. He had made a conscious decision to kill the closest thing he had to a friend, all to protect a man he barely knew. No… Poe wasn’t at fault here. He had never asked to be rescued, that had been Finn’s own doing, his own choice. But he did blame himself. He had run away because he didn’t want to hurt anyone, because violence was not in his nature, but by escaping it he had instead become the very thing he feared.

As the sun crawled higher and higher into the sky, Finn eventually left those thoughts behind for fear of Poe noticing his creased brow and solemn gaze. They paused every hour or so to take cautious sips of water and nibble on ration bars, sweat beading on their brows despite the chilly air. The kingdom remained stubbornly cold, even during these warmer months, but he was just glad that they didn’t have to make the journey when the trees were laden with blindingly white snow; freezing to death would certainly have gotten to them long before the First Order.

It was after their second break that Poe, apparently unwilling to let the silence drag on, began talking, sharing stories and details about himself that Finn silently committed to memory. He discovered that the prince was royalty by adoption, not by blood. Queen Organa had taken him in as her own after his mother, a decorated and renowned knight, had passed away. He was most at ease on the back of a horse, namely his own Black One, and his jousting skills were well known throughout D’Qar. He told stories of his patrols with the knight squadrons and skirmishes that he had fought in, eyes lighting up with animated glee, and Finn couldn’t help but grin amusedly, if somewhat bemusedly – because Poe intrigued him.

Those of royal blood were, by definition, snobbish and arrogant. Finn had never once been in the presence of a prince who hadn’t treated him like a piece of furniture, and never met one like Poe. Maybe it was the fact that he had been raised as a commoner for most of his childhood, or maybe it was just in his nature; whatever it was, the fact that he had put his life in the hands of a First Order knight, an enemy he had been raised to despise, spoke volumes to Finn.

Because even though Finn had never been given the luxury of trusting people outside of his comrades and commanding officers, even though he had known the prince for less than a day, near death experiences and adrenaline pumping escapes tended to bond people rather than drive them apart. And it was, he supposed, another way to spit in the First Order’s face. _I’m not just going to defect and run away; I’m going to help a prisoner do the same, then escort him across the country and help him find Luke Skywalker before you. Eat bantha shit._

So, in turn, Finn told Poe about himself. How he had been taken from a family he never knew and enlisted into as a knight before he could even properly walk. How his parents hadn’t even had the luxury of naming him; that Phasma had randomly picked one from a list and assigned it to him. What it was like to be considered worthy based on your skill as a soldier, and how it felt to be reduced to a blank white helmet and a murderous reputation. He found himself almost mentioning Slip on multiple occasions, how he was the closest thing he had to a friend among all the other harsh and unlikeable knights, but bit back the words before he could. He didn’t want to think about him more than he had to.

**. . .**

It was hard to see the sun through the canopy, making it difficult to judge time, but Finn thought that it was late afternoon when they happened upon a narrow, overgrown path and decided to take it. It beat stumbling over protruding tree roots and sliding down steep slopes, and since it appeared to be in disuse, he figured the First Order wouldn’t be patrolling its length. It took them past babbling brooks and abandoned wooden carts, groves filled with lovely wild flowers and fallen firs with trunks more than a metre in diameter. They walked side by side, and Poe was halfway through telling him about the time him and Karé uncovered an elusive smuggling plot run by a band of pirates, when he realised that he could hear something else other than the rustling of leaves and pleasant cadence of Poe’s voice.

The indecipherable murmur of voices, a hammer ringing on an anvil, the braying of livestock – the unmistakeable noises of a nearby village. He nudged Poe’s arm with his own as they came to the abrupt edge of the forest, and the prince cut his story short as they found themselves at the top of a gently sloping hill, at the bottom of which sprawled dozens upon dozens of buildings. Smoke rose in thin columns from chimneys, and they could see narrow, meandering streets crowded with townsfolk in colourful garments and vendors shouting their wares. He didn’t know the name of the town, had only been here once on a routine patrol, but he did know where the inn and stables were, and that was all that really mattered.

“What’s the plan?” Poe asked, and Finn tore his gaze from the sight before him.

“We’re just travellers on our way to Coruscant,” he said, reaching over and plucking the crown from his head. The prince frowned in confusion but quickly realised that to parade around wearing a crown would be a ridiculously stupid idea, and Finn stowed it away in the saddlebags. “Put your hood on, don’t make eye contact with anyone, and stay close to me. If you see a knight, we’ll calmly turn in the opposite direction. Clear?”

He got a raised eyebrow in response, which made him feel almost embarrassed for issuing commands like that, but then Poe grinned and snapped a salute. “Yes, sir!”

Finn simply rolled eyes his eyes in reply, Poe pulled on his hood so that his face was half cast in shadow, and they followed the uneven path down the slope, passing fenced off pastures and tilled fields as the ground began to flatten out. They made way for a farmer driving a bantha drawn cart laden with produce, and passed a few sun weathered workers who merely nodded at them – which was strange for the ex-knight, considering that he had never been able to walk anywhere without being whispered about or stared at. The mere fact that no one could tell what ruler he had sworn fealty to was shockingly liberating, and it was as if he hadn’t been able to realise that the white armour and First Order symbol at his belt was a burden until he had shed it. But, sadly, that was honestly the only positive he could find with walking straight into a busy populace where they had every chance of being recognised, captured, and killed.

Which really wasn’t doing much to soothe his nerves.

As the dirt path beneath them made way for one of rough cobblestone, Finn was only able to keep his movements from becoming fidgety with his years and years of practice. He made note of how Poe was keeping a very cool and calm demeanour, although after their day of sharing and talking, he really wasn’t surprised. He seemed to thrive on daring adventures, his life was just a series of stupidly brave acts and heroic antics, while Finn – well, he was a traitor with absolutely no experience in being a fugitive. To say that he was out of his depth here would be an understatement.

“Finn, buddy, look a little more relaxed,” murmured Poe in his ear, and he belatedly realised that he no longer could rely on his helmet to conceal his expression.

 _Stupid_.

With Finn focusing on schooling his façade into perfect blankness and trying not to bump into anyone, they found themselves on what he knew to be a main thorough fare of sorts. It was nowhere near the size of Starkiller, but bustling with enough people that he couldn’t help but feel like a cornered animal. If they were recognised and had to escape, there was no where they could run. The crowds were thick, the streets narrow and unfamiliar. They would be trapped within moments, and their journey brought to an abrupt and dissatisfying end.

Strangely enough, they walked all the way to the town centre without encountering a single white armoured knight, and Finn started to let himself relax.  

“Maybe they thought we were too smart to come here,” Poe said with a grin when Finn expressed his disbelief, and he supposed that that was as good a theory as any.

They came to a halt in what he knew to be the town square, bordered with shop fronts with large signs in the windows, the centre marked by an aged oak tree. Children played under its shade, squealing in excitement as they dodged adults hurrying to their various destinations, and Finn cast his gaze round till he spotted the building he knew to be the local inn. A narrow alleyway ran alongside it, which would be perfect for a quick and quiet exit, and it seemed to be rather crowded even at this hour, which was preferable. He turned back to Poe and gestured at the establishment.

“Alright – you head to the inn and book a room, and I’ll go resupply at the market. I’d rather you not wander around alone.”

Poe arched an eyebrow and Finn gave an internal groan.

“Well,” said the prince matter-of-factly, “I’d rather _you_ not wander around alone.”

“Yes, but if we _both_ go and _both_ of us are recognised, then _both_ of us will be captured.  If it’s just me, you can still escape.”

He pretended to think it over for a moment, shrugged, then spun on his heel and started walking. “Come on,” he called over his shoulder. “I saw the marketplace over here.”

Finn stood still for a moment before sighing loudly and following. Sure, the prince wasn’t haughty and arrogant, but he was apparently headstrong and stubborn – and honestly, he wasn’t sure which traits were worse.

It didn’t take long to find the market place, Finn frowning at Poe whenever he got the chance as they walked (and getting a smirk in reply), and they found the space bustling with people desperate to make their daily purchases and get home before sun down. Stalls were decorated with hand painted signs and colourful awnings of tattered fabric, the air was filled with the sound of merchants shouting their wares at passing potential customers. Crates full of fruits and vegetables were stacked upon wooden tables alongside all manner of odds and ends, and Finn started making a mental list of how much money they had and what they needed.

Poe was already digging through the bags on his back, and after a few moments he procured a leather purse. “Some bread for the next few days?”

Finn nodded, and Poe dug a handful of coins out before tossing it back to him with a loud jangle. A normal person would have been worried about pickpockets hearing the promising noise, but he was sure that if he could survive hand to hand combat with Phasma, then he could take care of a petty thief. He watched Poe thread his way through the crowd and make his way over to a nearby stall, then turned away and considered the products before him. 

He kept Poe within his sight as he bought small parcels of salted meat and hunks of hard cheese, ration bars that looked like the ones they were given on long sentry shifts, and packets of nuts and dried fruit. But the sun was close to the horizon, sky painted with lovely hues of pink and orange, when Finn finally realised that Poe’s arms were oddly empty. He was now standing at the bakers stall near the edge of the marketplace, leaning on the counter as he spoke to her, and Finn’s brow immediately creased in confusion. Surely he knew better than to speak to people, give them a better chance to commit his face to memory?

Finn immediately moved closer, as he couldn’t read the princes’ lips with his hood in place, and pretended to look interested in a porcelain pitcher as he was able to just make out what the prince was saying:

“– orange and white, one of a kind. You seen anything like that?”

With his frown only deepening, he watched as the shopkeeper shook her head apologetically and handed him the loaf of bread he had purchased, and quickly turned round so that that Poe wouldn’t know he had heard anything.  

It sounded like he was searching for something, but what had he lost? Was it really important enough that he would give people a better chance to recognise him and put both of them at risk? And why did he not trust Finn enough to tell him?

He vaguely remembered Poe, cleaning the wound on his neck, saying something about being separated from the person holding the map to Skywalker – could that be it?

His train of thought was cut abruptly short as Poe came to stand beside him, holding the wrapped loaf, still a perfect picture of coolness and calmness – Finn tried to tell himself that it was ridiculous to read into it, that the prince wasn’t really endangering them, that he had to have a perfectly good reason for it – and suggested that they buy some meiloorun fruits before the market shut because he was ‘really craving them’.

Finn gave a wry smile that almost reached his eyes and stayed close to the prince’s side as he weaved through the market space, and pushed the incident to the back of his mind. He had much more pressing matters to worry about.

**. . .**

With the saddle bags considerably heavier with food to last them for weeks to come, and sun long since disappeared beneath the horizon, they found themselves outside of the inn that Finn had indicated earlier. The noises from within were muffled, light spilling out through the grimy windows, more than a few people sitting outside – most of them with heads lolling onto shoulders, drunk even though it had barely gotten dark, obviously kicked out of the establishment for being too rowdy.

Poe eyed them warily but finally gave a slight shrug and pushed open the door, ushering Finn in before him before letting it fall shut. He was instantly met with warmth and loud chatter, a low ceilinged space crowded with people and lit with flickering yellow lamps. There was the dull _thunk_ of tankards being set on tables, the wafting smell of delicious cooked meals, and an unintelligible ballad being sung by a drunken group near the back of the room.

Finn suppressed a small smile and the two weaved their way between the tables, heads down as if that would prevent any eyes from following them, and made their way over to the bar where a sour looking man was polishing glasses. He looked up as Finn cleared his throat and raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“Room for the night,” Finn said, and slid a few silver coins across the counter. “If anyone asks, I’m the only one who came in.” He spared a quick glance at Poe. “I had a drink, then left.”

The barkeep deliberately eyed Poe (hood still up, face half cast in shadow), then the payment, and gave him a level look. “The two of you had a drink, then went up to a room?”

Finn sighed and dug out another few coins that he added to the pile. The man gave a satisfied nod, slapped a key into his palm, and gestured up the stairs. “Third door on the left.”

Finn thanked him and they made their way up. The stairs creaked and looked close to collapsing, the hallway carpet was undoubtedly spattered with some unsavoury substances, and he had to jimmy the lock for several seconds before shouldering the door open – but, as they entered their room, Finn really couldn’t complain. It was warm and dry, it certainly beat their previous accommodation, and they had an innkeeper with lips that would hopefully stay tight.

"I'll take the first watch," Finn said, dropping the saddle bags to the ground and going immediately to the grimy window. He quickly scanned the street below and, when he spotted no white armour, turned to face Poe. “You get some rest.”

The prince let his shoulders slump with obvious exhaustion. “Won’t argue with that. Wake me up in a few hours.”

Finn nodded in response and dragged the moth eaten curtains shut, the room becoming considerably darker, and Poe collapsed onto the bed with what could only be described as a groan of relief.

“An actual bed,” Finn heard him mumble into the pillow, before he shut his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

A smile ghosted his lips, and he tried to be as quiet as possible as he set to securing the room. He dragged the chair over from beside the rickety washing stand and wedged it under the door handle, then unclipped the sword from his belt and replaced it with the dagger from the bags – he figured that it would be easier to defend himself with it in such a small space, if it did have to come to that. But hopefully the night would pass without conflict, and they would slip away in the early hours of the morning with two horses and no aroused suspicion.

He sat with his back against the wall beside the door, so that if it was opened he would remain hidden, and felt a calming familiarity wash over him. Guard duty was something he had been doing his entire life, and he could almost pretend that the past day had never happened – that he was back in Starkiller City, taking sentry duty in the upper east tower, back into a routine he knew like the back of his hand. It wasn’t that he regretted diving headfirst into this, quite frankly, insane adventure; it was just… _so many people were dead because of him_. Would others follow suit? Might people be tortured for information that they didn’t have?  Would this choice bring about more good than bad?

Finn looked over at Poe’s sleeping form, soft moonlight piercing through the moth eaten curtains and dappling his peaceful features, and resolutely decided that it wouldn’t. He had still saved the prince, prevented an innocent man’s execution, and in doing so inadvertently saved many more lives. Because if a noose had been tied round that neck, D’Qar would’ve had no choice but to wage war upon Starkiller. Countries would have been ripped apart, families separated, lives lost. Sacrifices, he supposed, had to be made, and it just so happened that he had to be the one to make them.

He didn’t know whether or not that was true, but as he sat and listened to the muffled noise from downstairs and Poe’s shallow breathing, it was the only oddly comforting thought that kept him grounded.

**. . .**

A few hours had passed, in which Finn hadn’t allowed himself to so much as close his eyes for more than a few seconds, when he heard a noise. A sharp intake of breath, then the bed creaking as a weight shifted upon it, a low noise that might have been a whisper. He had leapt to his feet and half drawn his dagger before he realised that it was Poe, caught in the throes of what was undoubtedly a nightmare.

He sheathed the weapon quietly and took cautious steps towards the bed, and soon could make out the prince’s creased brow, his taut muscles, his fingers knotting tighter and tighter in the sheets as his mutterings became distinguishable words.

“ _Please don’t, not again, please, no, please, no_ –”

“Poe,” he whispered, coming to kneel beside the bed, letting a tentative hand rest on his arm. “Poe.”

The prince tossed and knocked his hand away, and with his trembling form and panicked string of pleading words, he could only imagine what the nightmare was about.

Ren, face twisted in a horrible grin, ruby encrusted blade kissing his skin again and again. Ren, arm outstretched, digging through his mind with cold fingers. Cold manacles cutting into his wrists, a failed mission, and an execution that he was powerless to stop.

Finn swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“ _Oh Force, please leave me alone, please don’t, please_ –”

“Poe,” he tried, shaking him gently this time, “wake up. It’s just a –”

A fist suddenly cracked into his jaw and he sprawled backwards with a yell, mind reeling too much to process the pain, hand instinctively going to the dagger at his hip. But it was gone, and there was a heavy weight keeping him down on the gritty floor, and then – then, finally, there was the cold press of metal against his throat and he froze.

Poe’s cheeks were streaked with tears, his teeth gritted, chest heaving as he blinked down at Finn (barely daring to breathe, to move, to do anything but stare). Realisation slowly dawned on his features, horrible guilt mixing with fear in the form of widened eyes and parted lips; moments passed that felt like years before he made a choking noise in the back of his throat and pulled the dagger away from his neck.

He threw it away with violently trembling fingers, face a perfect picture of abject horror, and didn’t say anything. The sound of it skidding to the other side of the room was deafening against their laboured breathing (the chatter from below having silenced soon after midnight) and Finn swallowed, felt a small bead of blood tracking its way down his neck.

“Finn,” Poe said, voice low and raw and strained. “Finn, oh stars, I’m…”

He cut himself short, shook his head slowly, clumsily got to his feet. Finn followed him up, hands out in a comforting gesture, and resisted the urge to rub at his throat with Poe’s eyes following him so closely.

“Poe, I’m okay.” His voice was soft, sincere, a plea for the prince to believe him. “It was just a nightmare. _It’s not your fault_.”

Poe shook his head and backed up slowly until he hit the opposite wall, then slid down it with a shaky intake of breath. Finn watched as he drew his knees up to his chest, wiped the tears from his cheeks with jerky, frustrated movements, let his head rest in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” came his muffled voice, and Finn’s chest tightened. This was such a horrible contrast to the man he had rescued from the dungeons, to the prince who had laughed and shouted as they made their brave escape, to the hero who spat in the face of danger. Finn had been foolish to believe that Poe had truly escaped when they passed those city gates; his mind was still plagued by the dark demons of memories long since gone, his skin remembering the kiss of a blade, his mind recalling that feeling of helplessness.

Silently, the ex-knight swore that Ren would pay for everything he had done, for all the lives he had ruined and taken, for all the misfortune he had bestowed upon those undeserving of it. Outwardly, however, he simply stood still for a moment longer before coming to sit beside Poe, back against the wall, their shoulders barely brushing but still able to feel the others warmth.

“You’re Poe Dameron, prince of D’Qar,” Finn began in a small voice. A knight by the name of Ace who took the bed next him in the barracks always woke in the middle of the night, chest heaving and eyes wild. They had quietly repeated their name, where they were, everything that had happened to them that day, as if grounding themselves back in reality, before falling back asleep. He thought, perhaps, the same might work for Poe. “I’m Finn, a defected First Order knight. We escaped Starkiller together. We’re in a room at a dodgy inn now, about a day’s walk from the city.”

He paused, almost surprised to see the tension draining out of Poe’s shoulders, hear his breaths slightly slowing, and continued. “You have dark hair and – and nice, hazel eyes. Your friends are, uh… Jess, Snap, Kare and… Iolo. Queen Organa is your mother. Your horse is called Black One. You’re the reason I was brave enough to leave the First Order.”

Finn cut himself off there, chewed on his lip, and let the silence resume. He wanted, more than anything, to reach out and take his hand – but considered that maybe physical contact was something that only calmed himself – and so restrained himself.

“I’ll keep watch,” Poe whispered after a few quiet minutes, and Finn spared him a sideways glance before nodding shortly.

The prince most likely meant that as an invitation to take the bed, but Finn… no, he didn’t want to leave his side, not while his fingers were curled into fists to hide how they were shaking, not while his eyes were still wide and blank, not while his mind was so obviously replaying those memories over and over again. That, he thought, would have been cruel. 

So he closed his eyes and let his head rest against the wall, and soon enough Poe’s breaths matched his own even ones, and although he could feel eyes upon him (watching, guilt ridden, sad) he let sleep tug at his mind and finally, blissfully, steal it away.

**. . .**

Finn was a light sleeper, trained to wake at the slightest of disturbances, and so it only took Poe a slight nudge to have him opening his eyes and blinking blearily. The first thing he registered was that his body was somewhat sore from having slept sitting against the wall, the second being that he was slumped against Poe with his head resting on his shoulder.

He immediately straightened up and, although it might have been a trick of the silvery moonlight pooling in through the window, thought he saw the corners of Poe’s lips curl into a small smile.   

“S’time to go?” Finn slurred, and the prince nodded as he got to his feet.

“Sunrise in a few hours.” He offered the ex-knight a hand and helped him up, and they shared a look that, although brief, somehow communicated everything that needed to be said.

_I’m sorry._

_Not your fault._

_Thank you, then._

_Don’t mention it._

Finn quickly averted his gaze and crossed the room in a few short strides, picked the bags up and removed the chair from under the door handle. They most certainly didn’t want to alert the inn keeper by leaving the room barred shut – instead, he would hopefully forget that they had passed through and be unable to clearly recall their faces.

Finn was beginning to notice that there were a lot of _hopefully’s_ and _maybe’s_ involved in their escape plans; but unless they were Jedi, there was really no other way to convince anyone to not divulge their whereabouts.

Poe wordlessly watched as Finn picked up the dagger from the ground, his jaw tightening slightly but nothing else, and stowed it away in the bags as he replaced it with his trusty sword. He went to the window, yanked back the curtains and, with some difficulty, opened it to the biting night air. It was a short drop to the darkened alley below, and although the shadows were thick, he quickly ascertained that there was no one waiting for them below.

“After you,” he said, stepping aside.

Poe came forward, manoeuvred himself out onto the sill and dropped to the ground below without a moment’s hesitation, landing with all the grace of a cat. He looked up expectedly and Finn allowed himself a moment to stare, before he dropped the bags down into the princes waiting arms and quickly followed.

He savoured the brief moment of weightlessness before his feet met the ground, and his eyes were scanning the dark alley warily before he had even straightened up. Poe silently handed him the bags and drew his cloak tighter round himself, and Finn jerked his head in the opposite direction to the town square.

“This way.”

They stuck to the shadows as best they could, walking quickly but quietly, constantly throwing wary glances behind them. The town was eerily silent and while it was unlikely for people to be strolling about at this hour, Finn certainly didn’t want to take any risks; so they stayed on the narrow backstreets behind buildings and kept far away from any windows still lit with yellow lamp light. And although being quiet was a prerequisite for sneaking around a town in the early hours of morning, he felt Poe’s silence like a foreboding presence.

He wanted to turn round and explain that he understood, that it was okay, that he wouldn't let anything happen to him, that Ren was nothing more than a bad dream – but that wasn't really true, was it? Not when the ruthless prince would stop at nothing to reclaim and swiftly execute his prisoner. Word would soon get out that the First Order had allowed not one but two fugitives to escape their clutches, and Ren would be furious at the humiliation. All the knights knew of his infamous fits of rage – tantrums, really – and although it seemed funny afterwards, the soldier with the half-crushed windpipe didn't think so.

So Poe had every right to be scared, and his mind every reason to see a ruby encrusted blade where none existed. And Finn had no words to ease that reality.

He swallowed back the strange feeling rising in his throat, and was glad to finally come across the long building that he knew to be the stables. There were close to a dozen horses held within, plenty to choose from, and Finn hoped that the person in charge wouldn't miss two of them – and if they did, well, drastic times did call for drastic measures.

Thankfully the wide doors weren’t in plain view of any houses, and the handles were secured with a simple padlock and chain. Finn fished the dagger out of the bag and tried to ignore the fact that Poe took an involuntary step back, glanced around furtively, and hoped that the Force or whatever would be on their side in making sure that nobody came to investigate. He brought the pommel down on the padlock and it snapped open with a sharp noise. The two winced and waited for the alarmed shouts, but when none came, they let themselves relax.

Finn really shouldn’t have been considering that a victory, but he was going to do it anyway.  

He dropped the broken padlock and let the chain pool to the ground, eased the door open, and they both slipped inside. He blinked, attempting to adjust his eyes to the sudden change in light, but found that he couldn’t see much. The stable was long and dark, the far corners shrouded in impenetrable shadows, a few grimy windows permitting moonlight to just outline the stalls. The air was thick with the smell of hay and faeces and Finn immediately scrunched his nose up – Poe, on the other hand, seemed to be accustomed to it, which _did_ make sense.

Finn nudged him in indication that he should get the horses, and he gave a short nod before opening the nearest stall and quietly whispering to the horse within. Finn left him to saddling the steeds, because the one thing the First Order had never taught him about was how to handle was horses. That was left to the upper class of cavalry, whilst Finn was just a foot soldier; trained in combat and battle strategy, and not how to control wilful – and quite frankly intimidating – animals.

He paced up and down the length of the stables, hand tight on the hilt of his sword, horses raising their heads to stare with beady eyes. His other hand was shaking slightly (whether because of the cold or nerves, he didn’t know) and his mind was silently contemplating why they hadn't yet encountered any knights. Maybe Poe was actually right, and they thought they were far too daft to stay at one of the closest towns, or maybe they had already discovered them and were just biding their time, lying in wait, hiding until they were able to corner them in the stables and –

At the noise of hooves on hardened earth, he turned and found Poe holding the reins of two saddled steeds, and almost wanted to slap himself for letting his imagination run away from him. If the First Order had indeed arrived at the town, they would have already captured and killed them, not laid some elaborate trap. Of course. He knew their internal workings better than anyone. He was just being dramatic.

He made his way back over to Poe, and although his face was half cast in shadow, Finn could see that he was looking much more at ease as he double checked the buckles and patted their flanks.  

“Glad I decided to rescue the best rider in the lands,” Finn said with a wry grin, voice slightly raspy after not talking for a while, and Poe gave a quiet huff of laughter.

“Very convenient,” he murmured, before jerking his head towards the door. “Let’s get them outside before we mount.”

Finn nodded and crossed over to the doors, cracking them open carefully and making sure that the coast was clear before opening them and allowing Poe to lead the two horses out. He slowly drew them shut, wincing as the hinge creaked, but managed to replace the chain and broken padlock without anyone bursting out of their house and yelling at them.

Another victory.

By the moonlight, he could more clearly make out the colours of the horse’s coats – the lovely dappled grey of the one Poe was holding, and the brown and white splotched patterns of the one that was obviously his. He moved to his steed, ran his fingers along its glossy neck, and shrugged the bags off his back so he could buckle it to the saddle.

He did so and, wary of the fact that they should be setting off as soon as possible, set his foot in the stirrup.

He could feel Poe’s eyes upon him, and a beat passed before he turned his head to look at the prince. “I think now might be a great time to mention that I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

Poe stared at him blankly for a moment, then clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

 “Poe _, seriously_ ,” he hissed, trying to play at angry seriousness, but unable to help the smile that touched his lips. After the night before, he was just relieved to see something other than weary exhaustion on the prince’s face. “I have no idea what I’m doing. Do I just…?”

“Right, yeah, okay – uh, just hold onto the pommel,” Poe said, still grinning, coming to stand close as he mimed swinging his leg up and over the saddle, “and just…”

He trailed off as Finn managed to copy the movement without seriously injuring himself or the horse, Poe hovering cautiously below him all the while, and found himself seated in the saddle moments later.

“See, that wasn’t too bad,” he said, touching his leg briefly in affirmation, and Finn immediately came to the conclusion that without Poe’s solid warmth in front of him he felt decidedly unsafe. The fact that he didn't have anything to wrap his arms around wasn’t really helping either, but of course he wasn’t going to share that information – so he simply gave Poe a smile of thanks, absently patted his steed’s neck and watched as the prince expertly swung himself up onto his own horse.

The only good thing about this, Finn mused, was that he could fully appreciate how good Poe looked in the saddle. Confident, strong, one hand casually holding the reins as the other carded through his dark curls. The only reason he realised Poe was talking was because he had started staring at his lips.

“Just kick your heels in and she should follow me.”

Finn huffed. “You make it sound so easy.”

Poe flashed him an easy grin before his own steed set off at a trot, and Finn’s immediately made to follow. The movement nearly startled him from the saddle and he gave a quiet, uneasy laugh as he tried to get used to the motion. Horse riding was indefinitely easier when your life was hanging in the balance, and even more so when the horse wasn’t actually his to control, but he was determined to become at least somewhat confident in the saddle; he figured he’d have ample time to, considering the distance between Starkiller and D’Qar.

But that thought had him frowning, suddenly faced with how difficult this would be, how long it would take, whether or not they might survive everything the journey would throw at them – because these lands were not safe ones, not with the inhospitable mountains they had no choice but to climb, the pirates and bandits roaming the forests, the sinking sands of Jakku, the various creatures that prowled the darkness.

“Finn, which way do we go?”

Poe’s voice startled him from his thoughts, and he decided to instead focus his energy on whispering quiet directions to the prince instead of contemplating the future.  A smart decision, he thought, especially since he had no kriffing idea what the future might hold.

**. . .**

The forest had been hard to navigate at night on foot, but on horseback it was even more difficult. The horses slipped and tripped over the uneven ground, Finn’s backside was already sore, and they could only hope that they were heading away from Starkiller and in the general direction of the mountains. They contemplated stopping and waiting for daybreak more than once, but ultimately decided that it was more important to gain ground, no matter how tempting a few more hours of sleep sounded.

But it was as the sun started rising, golden light streaming through the canopy and dappling the ground with gently wavering shadows, that Finn smelt something acrid upon the air. He frowned, inhaled deeply, pulled his horse to a slow stop as Poe turned to look at him in silent questioning.

“Can you smell that?” he asked, but the prince’s gaze was trained on something behind him, lips parted and brow creased, eyes widening as he came to some conclusion that he wasn’t yet privy to.

“Poe, what –” He cut himself off as he turned in the saddle and, because they were climbing a gently sloping hill, immediately saw the huge pillar of smoke splitting the otherwise perfectly blue sky in half.

There was silence before he finally came to that same, terrible conclusion. “ _Oh, maker_.”

Because it was the town, that was the only logical explanation. The First Order had finally picked up their scent, and since they couldn’t punish the fugitives, they had punished the townsfolk instead. Horrible images flashed through his mind in quick succession: the inn, flames licking out of the windows; the still sleeping patrons, lungs filling with smoke; the staff, all blackened husks, because they couldn’t tell them where their two guests had gone; people being knocked to the ground as their houses were ripped apart, searching for any sign of an escaped prince and traitorous bastard.

Finn turned to see that Poe’s face was a mess of emotions, anger and horror melding into one, until it was schooled into determined rigidity and fiery eyes as he wheeled his horse around expertly. “We have to go back.”

Finn was desperately shaking his head before the words had even left his lips, and he barred the way with his own horse. “Poe, you can’t –”

“Finn, I have to!” he said, knuckles white on the reins and voice loud with anger. “It’s my fault, I have to help!”

Poe looked as if he were going to charge straight past him, so Finn held out a hand as if to calm him and swallowed back the sour taste in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to agree and ride back to the town, try to prevent the spilling of blood that would be on their hands, but… it would do no good. He knew that, as much as hated it. It would be pointless.

“Poe,” he said lowly, “they will _kill_ you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do.”

“Those deaths will be on my head if I don’t go back.”

“No, they’re on the First Order.”

“Kriff, Finn!” he shouted, “I can’t let anyone die because of me!”

A few birds lifted from the trees at the sudden noise. Finn didn’t mean to flinch, but in the First Order raised voices were almost always followed by heavy fists, and jerking back was basic instinct by now. There was silence for a moment, the sounds of the forest resumed, and Poe’s face fell.

“Finn, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“It's okay,” he said earnestly, because he understood, of course he did. “I… I want to go back as well. But there’s nothing we can do without getting ourselves killed.”

Poe ran his hands down his face and gave a nod of assent.

A few moments passed as he tried to collect his thoughts. “We’ll, uh… we’ll avoid towns from now on. Nobody else needs to get caught in the crossfire. We won’t drag anyone into this.”

“Good,” Poe said finally. “That’s good.”

Finn let a few moments pass by silently, before he drew his horse close and reached out to let his hand rest on Poe’s shoulder. He leaned into the touch, eyes downcast and expression blank, and Finn only removed his hand when he looked up with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Let’s go,” Poe said, and he spun his horse round and kicked his heels in, and Finn followed without hesitation. He could no longer see the column of smoke, nor the sadness haunting the prince’s expression, and the wind had changed directions so that all he could smell was the sweet perfume of honeysuckle flowers.

He inhaled deeply and let his mind go blank.


End file.
